Dance with the Devil
by Those Two Chicks
Summary: In a world losing the fight against the undead, Shiranui Genma is fast succumbing to despair when a bedraggled teenage boy turns up on his doorstep. Could Hayate be the key to everything, or will getting attached just lead to more tragedy? GenHaya, AU.
1. Chapter One: Defender

This fic is brought to you by the collaborative effort of authors Hinaku and Sweetbriar, who wanted to write a little bit of AU GenHaya and then somehow turned it into an epic plot itself. We've been hard at work on this, so if you have any interest in zombies, the older generation of Naruto kids, post-apocalyptic wastelands, guns, boys, boys with guns, boy love, or Kotetsu's attempts at cooking/biological warfare, give it a try!

Enjoy!

**Chapter One: Defender**

Hayate's worn-down sneakers pounded against the wet pavement, making squeaks and squelches as he very nearly slipped, limbs flailing wildly. He was too tired, too hungry to be able to think about anything other than running--_run, Hayate, run_--running was all he _had_ been doing for what felt like forever. Each sharp gasp caught in the back of his throat, barely even reaching his lungs with the way he half-choked them back out again--panic clogged his throat and head as he skidded around a corner unevenly, ducking into an alley. If he didn't keep running, the--the _thing_ chasing him would catch him and tear him apart and eat him alive and--oh god, the mere thought of what it could do to him made him sick to his stomach. He'd seen what those undead hounds did to people with his own eyes. He wished he could erase the memories.

There hadn't been a single easy day since that time a year and a half ago, when Hayate's world had been turned entirely upside-down, when the infection had hit and the city had been reduced to nothing but a nightmare-infested ruin. His orphanage had been all but destroyed, burned to the ground. For all he knew, he was the only kid who'd survived since then--and only by the skin of his teeth, he knew. And tonight, his heart leaping into his throat as he heard the growling, snarling _thing_ round the corner after him, he _knew_ he was coming much closer than he ever wanted to be to losing what he'd managed to cling to for the past year and a half. A strangled cry escaped his throat as he nearly tripped again--_ohgodit'scomingit'sgainingonmeohgod_--

Genma was sitting on the lowest level of the fire escape that led into his well-barricaded hideout, the only way in or out a hatch in the wall blocked by two inches of steel and a thick lock, leaning back against the sheet metal coverings of the windows as he affectionately polished his Glock 17. The apartment's windows, like all the others in this particular building, had been soldered shut--the defense system was one of the first things he and his partner in life and crime had put together when they'd set up the camp with the rest of their survival group. Raidou had always been so collected, so fucking sure of himself and so goddamned selfless. Genma was good with his hands and had helped make the real repairs, but the planning had all been Raidou. The thought made Genma grit his teeth.

'_Fuck you, Raidou,_' he thought to himself darkly as he set his polishing cloth down, hearing the telltale snarls of an undead hound. '_Fuck you and your fucking hero complex. Fuck you for having the fucking gall to take that fucking hit for me. Fuck you for fucking leaving me like that, fuck you for having the goddamned balls to fucking ask me to finish you. And fuck you for thinking I could do it._' Thoughts like that were always running through his mind, had been ever since Raidou had gone down. Biting firmly on the end of the six-inch-long skewer that was ever-present between his lips--a comfort that was an effective close-range weapon--Genma extended his gun arm and slid his finger over the trigger, waiting for the mutt to get within range.

"Mother_fucker_," he muttered as the creature turned the corner, in pursuit of what appeared to be some kid--a boy, "oh no you fucking don't. The only thing you're eating tonight is lead, pup." With that, almost haphazardly, he fired, the bullet clearing the boy's head by mere inches to embed itself in the dog's skull. It whined once upon impact and then ceased making any sound at all. Genma snorted and rolled his eyes. The zombies were getting slower.

Hayate jumped at the gunshot, lurched forward and fell face-down into the pavement, throwing his arms out in front of his face at the last moment. He felt the wet asphalt dig into his bare skin as he skidded forward with a hiss of pain--his mind was unclear, fogged--_ohgodsomeonehasagunthethingit'sgonna_get_me_--

He landed with a sickened whimper, body trembling violently as he instinctively curled into a ball there on the ground.

Genma shoved the gun into his belt, watching the hound-creature twitch out the last of its life before he jumped down from his fire escape. He glanced over at the quivering mess of boy and shook his head. "You okay, kid?"

Hayate started violently at the voice--the _human_ voice--and he jerked his head up, arms automatically flailing out defensively in front of his body. His dark eyes were wide with fear as he stared up at the man before him, and it was a moment before the actual meaning of Genma's words had settled in; he couldn't seem to come up with an answer at first, but finally Hayate nodded, shakily.

"Y-yeah...yeah, I'm--" He caught sight of the now-dead beast and felt his stomach heave, but nothing came up--there wasn't anything _to_ come up. He swallowed.

"I'm fine." His voice was raspy, dry, and he let out a nasty-sounding cough into his hand. "Did--d-did you kill it?" he stammered, eyes flickering back to Genma.

"Don't worry," Genma reassured the boy, irreverently shoving the steel-plated toe of his boot into the corpse's neck. "It's pretty fucking dead." He proceeded to kick the dog's body aside carelessly (which was the way he did everything now that Raidou was gone) because it seemed to be upsetting Hayate.

"You're okay, kid," he sighed, crouching down and somewhat awkwardly reaching out to cuff Hayate's shoulder in a manner that was hopefully comforting, "but you better get it together. We should get the hell out of the street before anything else hears us." Feeling the boy's bony little shoulder beneath his calloused hand was strange, almost surreal. He hadn't touched anyone that way since--

"Kid, you don't look so hot," he observed before he got too caught up in his thoughts again. "Think you can make it up the ladder or am I gonna have to carry you?"

Hayate was shaking badly, but he resolutely blamed it on the shock--the shock of seeing that dead creature, the shock of another human being who looked at him and talked to him and _touched_ him, the shock of being _saved_. It hadn't been the first time he'd been chased, not by a long shot--out on his own for a year and half since the incident, he'd learned to be pretty damned fast on his feet. But here he was tired, hadn't eaten in at least two days, felt like he hadn't slept in at least as long...

"I--I'm okay," he said hoarsely, and swallowed, nodding unevenly. "Just...just tired. Running a lot. Hungry..." He shook his head. "I'm okay. I can make it..." He looked up at the fire escape. "D-do you live here?"

"Top floor," Genma confirmed as he stood, offering Hayate a gloved hand to help him up. Even as he pulled the younger boy to his feet, he could hear distant growls and half-formed baying of decayed canine jaws.

"Well, fuck," he muttered, "there's the pack. Better start climbing, kid. I can only feed you if you don't turn into lunch first. Go on. I've got your back." He reached up to grasp the lowest rung of the ladder and yanked it loose to pull it to the ground, his other hand finding its way to the handle of his Glock. He scanned both ends of the alley and saw the hounds coming in from the right, saw them pick up their pace as they caught the scent of living meat. The stench of their rotting flesh set Genma on edge. Everything in the city smelled of decay these days--there was no escaping it--but being so close that it was strong enough to _taste _was too close for comfort.

"_Go_," he hissed, and headed up the ladder himself as soon as Hayate cleared it, though he sacrificed speed to climb with only one hand, the other wielding his gun and ready to fire should anything close in on them. Once at the top, he pulled the ladder backup and latched it in place in case something undead with opposable thumbs came calling, then followed Hayate back the rest of the way. Free of any immediate danger, he slid his gun back into his belt and dug a key out from the pocket of his trench coat, gesturing for Hayate to move so he could unlock the heavily-modified safe door he and Raidou had adapted into a functional entryway.

Hayate glanced around with still-wide eyes as he stepped aside, taking in the new surroundings. He clenched his jaw to keep from shaking anymore--it was over now, he told himself, he was fine, he'd been saved by--

He realized, then, that neither of them had introduced themselves yet. Coughing into his hand, he looked back at the young man who'd saved his life. Considering he was about to let Hayate into what could be called his home, Hayate thought that the least he could do himself was offer his name. And his thanks, at that. Hayate had never had his life saved before; he had always imagined that it would feel...bigger. And yet, here he was, standing around listlessly before the front door and feeling decidedly unimpressed and surprisingly calm for someone who had just come _that close_ to having his innards ripped out by an undead hound.

Hayate decided, idly, that it was the shock.

He looked up at Genma and cleared his throat--he only realized now that it felt raw. "I...um...thanks. You saved me, and..." Hayate tipped his head to the side for a second, his coarse bangs falling over his eyes. He shook them away. "My name's Hayate."

"Genma," came the offered response, "Shiranui Genma. Not that things like that mean jack shit anymore."

The apartment was completely dark once Genma shut the door, a kind of dark that felt extremely comforting to him--if even light couldn't make it in, zombies sure as hell weren't about to either. When he flipped a nearby light switch, the layout of the place revealed itself. It was a simple studio apartment, the paint cracking and peeling in places. There was a single futon in one corner of the room, needlessly large for someone living alone; near that was the door to the bathroom, hanging open with a shower stall faintly visible in the yellow lighting. On the other side of the shower was a closet. There was a living room space that only had an overstuffed couch and a cable spool creatively setup as a table, covered with bullet casings and gun parts. Against the wall was a work desk with a scattering of papers and journals on it, collecting dust, as though someone had gotten up to grab a drink and never came back. Sectioned off on the opposite side of the apartment was the kitchen, a simple arrangement of stove, oven, sink, and fridge. There was a pantry, but all of the food was either in the fridge, on the kitchen counters, or in one of the many boxes stacked against the wall--Genma and Raidou had raided more than their fair share of grocery stores for non-perishables for their 'just in case' scenario. The pantry itself was Genma's storage for salvaged weapon parts. The front door was nonexistent, soldered shut like everything else. Live as part of a renegade survival group in a city full of zombies long enough and it was hard not to get a little paranoid. And Raidou had always been a little paranoid anyway. Genma sighed.

"Don't touch the desk or the closet. You're welcome to everything else," he instructed, gesturing for Hayate to follow him into the kitchen. "Now let's get you some food before you pass out or something."

Hayate padded after him compliantly, wet sneakers making quiet squeaking sounds on the hardwood floor. It occurred to him then that he should have offered to take his shoes off--like everything else about him, they were dirty--but then after a moment's thought he realized that Genma probably didn't care. Hayate guessed, mere speculation, that Genma didn't care about much of anything. He had the definite air of a man who had lost everything to live for but his own damn skin.

"Thanks...Genma," Hayate said quietly; the name felt strange on his tongue. His stomach growled loudly, as if to second the sentiment, and Hayate placed a hand over it. Any other time in his life and he would have been embarrassed--but he hadn't eaten in two days, he'd just had the scare of his life, and in the past year and a half he'd been bereft of anything resembling pride or dignity anyway. He thought maybe Genma could understand something like that.

"Sure thing, kid," Genma said with a nod, not intending to use Hayate's name at all. When things had names, they were hard to not get attached to, and Genma was done getting attached to things. He didn't get attached to stray cats and he sure as hell wasn't going to get too fond of this stray kid. He noted with approval, however, the boy's lack of comment or apology for his growling stomach--pride and dignity, like last names, meant very little these days. More than that, pride could get you killed; Hayate was a bright boy for retaining neither.

Genma opened the fridge for them and pushed around the contents, rattling them off to Hayate because while he was certain the boy would eat just about anything, it never hurt to offer a little selection when it was available.

"We've got...peanut butter, cookies, canned fruit, pop, honey, canned soup--shit, what's that doing in the fridge? Yeah, there's also a meal replacement bar I want you to eat because I'd rather you not die in my apartment, but other than that help yourself to whatever's in the fridge or the pantry. Er, well, the cupboard. There are only guns in the pantry."

Hayate stifled a cough, glancing back at Genma once with a bit of uncertainty (and maybe a bit of skepticism--guns in the pantry?) before peering into the fridge. He felt a little weird just...reaching in and taking things, but then--this wasn't a normal situation. He reached into the fridge, shivering a bit as the cold hit his bare hand, and pulled out the meal bar, cookies, and peanut butter--the cap was missing and it was half empty and there was a frigid spoon stuck into it, but somehow it didn't bother Hayate. If anything, it was a strange kind of comfort. It felt more like home than anything he'd touched in a long time.

Hayate carried the food back to the table, putting it down wherever there was space, and sat down. His hands were still shaking now, but only from weakness and exhaustion and hunger, and without another word to Genma, he pulled the spoon from the peanut butter jar and stuck it in his mouth. He tried not to make _too _much noise as the half-frozen peanut butter started to melt and dissolve on his tongue, but he couldn't help let out a quiet sound of relief and bliss, and he closed his eyes with a small smile. Even after two days of running and hiding and not eating, he hadn't imagined the food could taste this _good_.

'_God damnit,_' Genma found himself thinking as he picked up where he had left off cannibalizing a scrapped gun for parts, trying not to watch Hayate eat, '_stop looking so goddamned innocent. Stop it before I forget what a fucking hellhole this whole fucking world is._' He let Hayate enjoy some of the peanut butter because he wasn't heartless, but stopped him before the third bite, reaching over to take the jar and the spoon out of his hands.

"Meal bar first, kid," he all but ordered. "Your body needs it."

Hayate couldn't hide the disappointment at having something so _delicious_ taken away from him so soon, but this was Genma's house and not his, and he reluctantly let Genma take the jar and spoon from him. "Ah...right..." He picked up the meal bar and unwrapped it, biting into it. It was hard from being in the fridge--but he thought it might have been a little stale, too.

"Don't look like I just drowned your kitten, kid," Genma sighed, though not without something almost resembling humor. "After you finish your veggies like a good little boy, you can eat all the cookies and peanut butter you want. Hell, you can dip the cookies _in_ the peanut butter for all I care."

'_Goddamnit, tell me what the fuck I'm doing, Rai_,' Genma's mind raged, '_I'm supposed to be fucking done with strays, remember? Masa was our last one. I can't fucking do this anymore. Fucking hell, Rai. I'm putting my canned soup in the fridge. I'm sleeping on my ammo. I'm wearing my fucking clothes into the shower._' Unable to sit still and watch Hayate eat anymore, he went to the door to make sure it was closed properly, then hit the pantry. He had lied, just a little. The pantry _was _full of weapon scraps, but it was also where Genma's alcohol stash went. He felt around the bottom shelf until his hand closed around an opened bottle of whiskey. He had personally stockpiled half the city's alcohol after he'd lost Raidou, because hard liquor was the only thing left in the world to warm his bed at night.

And meanwhile, Hayate nibbled obediently on the meal bar--it didn't taste bad, but it didn't taste all that good, either--with a tiny smile. It was almost undetectable, but it was _there_. Genma's half-humorous remark had been...it had almost been _warm_. Brotherly, almost. Hayate hadn't ever had any siblings, just the other kids at the orphanage, but even so...no one had spoken to him like that in such a long time.

But when he finished off the meal bar and discreetly licked the crumbs from his fingers, he looked up to see Genma taking a drink from a bottle of--something alcoholic, Hayate knew that much, even with his limited exposure to anything of the sort. The smile quickly faded from his face. Genma looked like he was drinking with the sole intention of getting drunk enough that he wouldn't even feel his face anymore. That thought was less of a comfort.

Hayate quietly reached for the jar of peanut butter again, his eyes staying fixed on Genma as he watched the older man drink. As he licked the spoon, freshly coated in cold peanut butter, he tried to hold back the question that had been on the tip of his tongue since Genma had offered him food--but then, seeing as Genma didn't look like he'd be sober for much longer, Hayate figured that now was as good of a time as any to ask.

"Are you gonna let me stay, Genma?" It was half-blurted out, and there was an unmasked desperation in his voice that carried no shame but a sick kind of hope. "Or are you gonna make me leave?"

The question made Genma stop mid-swig and wonder if the kid was a telepath or something. Sure it was unlikely and mildly irrational, but rationality was one of the first things to go in the face of a zombie outbreak. He couldn't even tell if Hayate was a really sad kid or just that good an actor. If he was _trying_ to further batter Genma's long-broken heart, it was working.

"Well, you're too sick to send back out there, aren't you?" he asked dismissively in response, as though it were no big deal. When in doubt, make a mockery of your problems--one of Genma's many completely useless defense mechanisms.

"I'd hate to be responsible for giving those fucking mutts indigestion," he said, grinning faintly. "Guess you can couch-surf as long as you feel like it, kid, as long as you don't mind being under house arrest. I only got one key, and you're far from being in shape to go salvaging with me."

"I'm not really all that--" Hayate started off, but then abruptly caught himself and blinked up at Genma with large, dark eyes. "You mean...you'll really let me stay? Here? With you?" Compared to the state most of the city was in right about now, this place may as well have been a mansion-- Hayate couldn't remember the last time he'd slept under an actual roof that wasn't caving in. This place was safe, and most of all, there was someone _else_ here. It didn't really matter what sort of person Genma was--it was just that he was _there_. This time, a real smile spread over his face, even as subdued as Hayate's expressions generally were--it went beyond just his eyes, tugging at the corners of his lips as he turned his face fully to Genma's.

"Thank you," he said, more sincerely than he could remember saying anything in his life. He put the peanut butter jar back down, spoon and all, and considered standing up to properly thank Genma, but he was tired and the soreness from all the running had finally settled heavily into his legs. "I...thank you, Genma. I haven't had any place to stay since--well--" Hayate just barely stopped himself from babbling, and he decided then that the occasion really _did_ call for standing, whether his legs hurt or not. Ignoring the shakiness in his legs, he pushed himself slowly to his feet and turned to Genma, making as if to walk towards him. "If--if there's anything I can ever do to repay you, just--"

--At which point his legs gave way beneath him entirely, and with a half-startled noise he fell back down onto the hardwood floor in a decidedly undignified manner. The sight made Genma sigh in a near-affectionate, half-exasperated manner and he moved back over, hauling Hayate up by the arm.

"Take it easy, kid." He grinned faintly, coming to realize how precious little he had to smile about these days. Smirk in satisfaction because he'd just redecorated the alley in undead brain matter? Sure. Grin in morbid humor at being cornered by six zombies with five rounds left in his magazine? All the time. But smile because he had found himself a moment of peace in a world where dying was the least of your problems? That was rare. Genma wasn't quite sure if he liked it yet.

"You should get some rest," he continued decisively after a moment's deliberation. "I don't have any spare blankets to offer you, so you can have the bed for now. I'll put bedding on my list of things to get when I go out tomorrow." He paused.

"Now can you walk yourself to the bed or should I sling you over my shoulder?"

Hayate coughed, perhaps a little embarrassedly, but the hand on his arm was a quiet, warm comfort--something he hadn't felt in what must have been forever. It was a shock in itself, but one he liked. Maybe he just wasn't as jaded as Genma, or maybe he was just more desperate--but he wasn't so afraid of getting hurt as to shy away from opening up and wholeheartedly accepting that distant affection.

"No, I...can make it." Hayate sat back down and looked over at the large futon before picking up the peanut butter again. "Can I just have some more peanut butter first?" he asked hopefully. "Um--I mean--if that's okay. I mean, it is yours and all..."

"Go for it, kid," Genma shrugged, taking another good, long swig of whiskey as though he knew no such thing as a need to breathe. "Everything's junk anyway. No sense in saving it for later." He stopped, looked Hayate over thoughtfully, and made a vague gesture toward the bathroom.

"You're welcome to the bed now anyway, but the shower works if you'd like. I seriously doubt any of my pants are gonna fit you within the next decade, but I'm sure I can come up with a shirt." Even as he spoke, he ambled over to the closet he had forbidden Hayate to disturb, sliding the door open with his hip. The clothes inside were arranged oddly, those on the left side pressed tightly together so that there was a break in the middle of the rack while the right side looked like any other closet, the clothes evenly spaced and...color coded? It was the left half that Genma thumbed through until he found a shirt from his school days, back when he'd been all about clubbing. It was plain, black, and fit him tightly, so he figured the kid wouldn't drown in it.

"Try this," he called behind him, voice slightly distorted as he was talking into his bottle of whiskey, taking another drink as he tossed the shirt over his shoulder.

Hayate was too busy licking peanut butter off the spoon to catch it in time, and the shirt landed half on his shoulder. He blinked, a little surprised--he hadn't really expected Genma to _clothe_ him, too.

"Oh, um...thanks." He finished licking the spoon clean and stuck it back into the jar, coughing quietly as he pulled his own shirt over his head. He'd been wearing it for the last few months, when he'd found it by a pure stroke of luck outside of an abandoned department store. It was loose and the collar was too wide, leaving much of his shoulders bare, and it was grimy and ripped but he was rather fond of it. Still, though--fresh clothes for free. Hayate wasn't going to complain.

He dropped his shirt on the floor next to him, shivering lightly as the air hit his bare skin. Hayate had always been kind of a scrawny kid, but in the past year and a half food had been scarce for him, and meals sporadic, and now his ribcage was clearly visible against his pale skin. He reached for the shirt Genma had thrown at him, fingering the stretchy fabric before he pulled it on. It was still a little loose on his thin frame, but it didn't hang off of him. He smiled tiredly at Genma.

"Thanks...but is it okay if I pass on the shower for tonight?" He eyed the futon with unmasked longing--how long had it been since he'd slept on a _bed_? "I'm really, really tired..."

"Yeah, I'd appreciate it if you didn't pass out in my bathroom. My bedside manner might be better than Haruichi's, but I'm not quite as good as drilling impromptu holes in peoples' heads to fix concussions," Genma replied, nodding, and then blinked at himself. After a moment, he trained a mildly disgruntled look at his whiskey and sighed. Alcohol had a way of making him nostalgic, he was well aware. He'd just never expected having a little company would make his tongue so loose.

"Go on, then. I'm gonna get tired real fast if you insist on asking my permission for everything. It might be my shit, but it's still just shit," he sighed, shaking his head. "Don't break anything and we won't have any problems. Okay?" At having to reiterate for the second time his renouncement of worldly possessions, he found himself glancing at Raidou's desk, at the prayer beads he knew were tucked away in the second drawer from the top.

'_It _would_ take someone like you to turn me into a fucking monk, wouldn't it. Bastard. You know crosses look better on gunners._'

Hayate responded with a dutiful 'okay,' but the word was half-slurred by sleepy lips. Utter exhaustion, delayed by fear-induced adrenaline and the driving need to fill his stomach, had finally caught up with him, weighing down every fiber of his body. He didn't place the peanut butter back on the table so much as drop it, making a half-hearted attempt to stand again before he decided that crawling was a better option to clear the short distance to the futon. Forgetting that he was still wearing his wet sneakers, he collapsed on top of it, too tired to even bother with the covers. A small, relaxed smile spread over his face--the futon felt like nothing short of _heaven_. Unfocused eyes flickered over Genma's form once more before he let out a quiet sigh that could have been another thank you, and then he let sleep overtake him, sprawled out haphazardly over the futon.

Watching the boy out of the corner of his eye, Genma sighed once more and set his drink down, leaving about a fifth of the whiskey he'd started with in the bottle. He put the cookies and what was left of the peanut butter back into the fridge, moved the canned soup to the counter. Sometime between midnight and daybreak, after he'd stripped off his jacket, put his gun on the table next to the whiskey, and folded the covers over Hayate, Genma found himself asleep, sitting up against the couch. The nightmares came for him as they always did; but somehow, he managed not to wake himself calling out Raidou's name, because that would have woken the boy.

He slept until morning.


	2. Chapter Two: Dissonance

We hope you're enjoying the fic thus far! A few more minor characters make a bit of an appearance in this chapter. AND LOOK, IZUKO! 8D

**Chapter Two: Dissonance**  
The day started out less than pleasant for Genma. He woke up around noon with something of a hangover and sore neck, unable to remember for the life of him why he was sleeping sitting up. By the time he figured it out, he had almost stepped on the boy sleeping in his bed--Hayate's thin form barely even made a lump under the sheets. Sighing, Genma rubbed his temples as he went about dressing for the day. Mindless of the stranger--the horribly, horribly underage stranger--sleeping on his futon, he stripped off last night's clothes, discarded them to the ground on the way to the closet, and found something that was black and would _probably_ not come apart while he was wearing it. With the moderately clean clothes in hand, he went to use the bathroom (because he had been drinking a great deal and a full bladder was the last thing anyone wanted to have while hunting zombies), brushed his teeth, washed his face (several times), and pointedly neglected to shave. That done, he barely remembered to dress before he went around the apartment collecting what equipment he would need for the day. It was painfully clear how unused to sharing his space Genma was. (Not that he would have cared if Hayate had woken up to him walking around the apartment nude--if the boy had only looked a day older than thirteen.)

Grumbling this fact to himself, he slung his pack of backup ammo and trading goods over his shoulder, shoved his boot knife back in place, checked and reloaded his Glock, and slid his worn trench coat back on. He pressed his lips against the ever-present scrap of red fabric he wore as an armband before tying it off with his free hand and his teeth, knotting it twice to make sure it would stay. And with that, he'd completed his morning rituals, which actually had no particular order except for the beginning and the end.

Just as he was leaving he considered the fact that the things he was going to have to pick up for the kid would be tacking a full two, three hours onto his trip. Glancing around the house, he figured he might as well put the kid to work. If Genma was going out of his way to find him something to sleep on, the kid could certainly make sure there was somewhere to put said place to sleep in the cramped apartment. (Genma paused at that thought, wondering when the last time had been that his apartment had ever felt cramped. It seemed years ago, lifetimes ago, when four, five, six of them would sit around Suzume's blueprints and laugh about saving the world.) Rummaging through the drawer of 'random stuff' every home seemed to have (though almost every one of Genma's drawers seemed to qualify, this drawer was filled with _exceptionally_ random stuff), he managed to find a scrap of paper and a pen, on which he scrawled a message ordering Hayate to do laundry while he was gone; and then he looked around for somewhere to tape it where there was no chance for the boy to miss--

Looking rather pleased with himself, Genma ventured out of the apartment, carefully locking the safe behind him. Instead of descending down the fire escape he climbed onto the railing and vaulted himself onto the apartment complex's roof. It was faster to get to the merchants this way.

Timing his jumps just right, Genma made it to the roof of a school two buildings over and climbed down the chain link fence meant to keep kids out of the backup power generator, spotting a familiar figure lounging on the merry-go-round.

"Kotetsu!" he called, readjusting the strap against his shoulder.

"What's up, Genma?" the former drug dealer sat up to grin back at him. Kotetsu had been infamous back on SSU campus for his shady dealings, being 'that Catholic high school dropout kid' who knew how to get the good stuff. These days things weren't that much different, though drugs were out and weapons were in. As far as Genma could tell, the Izumo-Kotetsu double act were making a comfortable living for themselves even under these circumstances.

"Same old, I guess," Genma said with a shrug, not wanting to get into details about taking in Hayate because he wasn't sure if he could handle jokes on the matter quite yet. "Hey, how's the wife?" At that, Kotetsu laughed almost nervously and glanced over at the school to make sure the person in question wasn't about to make an appearance.

"Bitchy," he finally answered, shaking his head, "but what else is new?"

"I hear you," Genma nodded, "I know how that goes--" The two of them shared a painfully awkward moment then, Genma busy thinking '_What the fuck was that?_' to himself in a near panicked way as Kotetsu stood there, staring at him, not really knowing what to say or do.

"So, uh, what've you got for us today?" Kotetsu finally managed to blurt, abrupt but effective. "Anything kinky?" He grinned suggestively at that, effectively shattering the tension to the relief of both parties.

"I dunno, you guys into this kind of thing?" Genma grinned back, unloading his pack. "A couple more semi-automatics, though given what I had to work with you're best off saving these for shots six feet and closer. Otherwise your shot's gonna go wide. On the bright side, I've got a couple more bags of shotgun rounds made for you. These are made out of dumpster siding, but whatever works, right?"

"We're good as long as you don't jam up our customers' guns," Kotetsu agreed, setting the wares into his own bag as Genma unloaded them. "That's five credits apiece for the shotgun rounds, twenty for each gun?"

"And where's my sexy tax, sweetness?" Genma teased, punching Kotetsu's upper arm playfully.

"Hey, you keep flirting and the 'wife' is going to put me on the couch," Kotetsu laughed, punching back. "I'll throw in two credits if you take off the jacket for me, how's that?" Shaking his head, grinning mischievously as though he were a school boy again, Genma pulled his jacket down his shoulders in an enticing fashion as prompted.

"...Kotetsu, what the hell are you doing?"

"Oh _shit_," Kotetsu cursed at Izumo's voice, shoving Genma back toward the school as he palmed him several coins. "Sixty-seven credits for today, okay? I'll see you later!"

Snickering, Genma called out a goodbye to 'Missus Hagane' and bailed, because it was hard to resist causing Kotetsu a hard time with his partner.

Seeing the two of them like that made Genma's chest ache, sometimes.

Normally he would have gone straight to salvaging after visiting Kotetsu, but he had a few more items on his list than usual. Blankets, actual food, possibly bedding for the brat back home--the only person Genma knew who could get him these things was a certain Aburame Shibi. Groaning to himself at the thought, he lamented not telling the kid to wash the floors and clean the bathroom too. He _hated_ visiting Shibi. Not only did the strange man insist in opening shop in the most roach, ant, fly, and whatever else scurried around on six or more legs-infested alley of the city, he could never see the man's eyes or mouth and that _bothered_ him.

But Shibi was the only man who could find Hello Kitty stationery when asked in a zombie wasteland of a city, so Genma really had little choice in the matter. The roaches were the first to greet him and, despite all of his instincts to do otherwise, he avoided stepping on them. Because, though how was still beyond him, Shibi always _knew_, and Shibi's prices were hell when someone crossed him.

"We all knew you guys would survive the fucking apocalypse, didn't we?" he muttered as one narrowly missed walking under his heel, shaking his head. Insects really weren't his thing. "Hey, Shibi?" he called as he turned the corner, watching insects scatter as he neared, a man wearing a coat far too heavy for the warm autumn weather turning slowly at the sound of his voice.

"I need blankets," he continued, used to the merchant not speaking back unless necessary. "And food. Some melee weapons Maybe a small bed in the future? I got...a stray at home."

"I can have blankets for you by tomorrow." Shibi nodded. "The bedding will be harder, but I will let you know. Food and weapons I have now. Give me your list."

Genma ended up spending twenty-six of his credits on the food and weapons and knew he had to make at least another twenty by tomorrow if he wanted those blankets. Sighing, he thanked Shibi and pocketed what credits he had left after tucking away his new food safely in his pack.

"They're coming," Shibi spoke up suddenly, turning away from him. "You should go."

A moment later, Genma heard them too, the ominous sound of footfalls around the bend, the sound of autonomous beings trudging along in a world they no longer belonged to and yet somehow owned. Grimly, Genma only grinned and drew his Glock, pressing his lips against the cool metal of the barrel before holding it at ready.

When the first undead creature turned the corner, he held back, finger cradled against the trigger. He waited for it to start for him, waited for a second corpse to stumble into view behind it. Lining the gun up with their heads, he fired, sending a single shot through both rotting skulls, watching in satisfaction as they both slumped to the ground.

"Sorry about the mess, Shibi. I'll make it up to you sometime," he apologized before he ran out of the dead end alley, not quite certain of the numbers he faced--but not exactly caring.

* * *

It was hard to tell whether it was the utter exhaustion or the lack of light streaming in through the metal sheeted windows that kept Hayate from waking until three o'clock that afternoon, but he was willing to place his bets on the exhaustion. He awoke slowly, gradually, with none of the automatic panic he usually felt as soon as his eyes were open, and stared up at the ceiling blankly. He felt his heart skip a beat at the unfamiliar surroundings--he was _inside_ somewhere--but then the previous night's events slowly came back to him, and he relaxed into the futon. A small smile crept onto his face at that. The _futon_. He was sleeping on actual cushioned bedding, with actual sheets and an actual pillow. It almost felt surreal. 

He coughed quietly and sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes, but stopped when his hand brushed against what felt like paper. Wrinkling his nose a little (and wondering in his yet-sleepy state why there was paper anywhere near the vicinity of his face), he pulled it away--and then hissed as he felt what was definitely tape tear away from his forehead and pull out the few hairs it had stuck to. "Ow," he muttered to himself, rubbing at his forehead with his free hand, and examined the small paper. Turning it over, he saw that it had nothing but the words "DO LAUNDRY" scrawled messily in caps on it. There was no signature, but it didn't take Hayate long to realize Genma had written it.

Genma had taped a note to his forehead. While he'd been sleeping. Hayate half-scowled to himself. He didn't know Genma that well yet, but he could guess that the man had probably thought it to be funny.

And Genma wanted him to do laundry. Well, demanded was more like it, but Hayate didn't have all that much of a problem with it. After all, Genma was letting him stay here, had clothed and fed him, and more importantly, had saved his _life_. Hayate didn't mind washing a few clothes in return for that.

Hayate crumpled the note up and rubbed his eyes one more time before pulling the sheets away from his legs, but immediately grimaced when he saw the dirty sneakers at the end of the futon. He'd forgotten to take them off before dragging himself onto the soft bedding and passing out--he'd dirtied up the sheets, hadn't he? But after giving the sheets more than a cursory glance, Hayate made a slight face. They weren't exactly clean to begin with, so a little more dirt wouldn't hurt them. Besides, he was about to do the laundry anyway.

After kicking his shoes off and leaving them next to the futon, Hayate gathered up the sheets and the shirt he'd left on the floor and set about finding a washing machine somewhere in the apartment. As he trudged along in his socks, poking around idly, he found further evidence that Genma was not someone to be described as "organized"--soiled clothes were strewn here and there, and Hayate added them to the growing pile in his arms one by one. It didn't take him long to conclude that there _was _no washing machine, and by that time his thin arms were overflowing with dirty laundry, and he wasn't even sure he'd found all of Genma's dirty clothes. Hayate gave a resigned sigh and trudged his way over to the sink--there was nowhere else to wash them, and he figured that maybe Genma did his laundry there too. It was either there or the bathtub, he supposed. But when he made it to the sink and dumped the laundry in a pile next to it, he saw to his dismay that the sink was overflowing with dirty dishes. Hayate stared at them helplessly for a few moments before he sighed in resignation and rolled up his sleeves.

Within an hour he'd finished washing the dishes, dried them with a dishtowel he'd only _hoped_ was clean, and then carefully stacked them in the cupboards wherever there was room. The cupboards were filled with all manner of things that were not necessarily dishes, and Hayate had to admit that some of them were _strange_: an assortment of what were probably stale crackers, bath salt, a stray fork, and what looked like it could be a spare key to the heavy-security door to the apartment. After a moment's deliberation, Hayate pocketed the key and decided to ask Genma about it later.

By that time, however, Hayate's stomach was growling loudly in complaint. Considering Genma didn't seem to have any qualms with sharing his food supply, and it was just _there_, Hayate saw no reason to delay what was definitely a very late breakfast. Wiping his damp hands on his loose jeans, he trotted over to the fridge and pulled out the peanut butter and the cookies he'd never even gotten around to eating the night before. He had himself what felt like a luxurious breakfast, nibbling on the cookies and licking peanut butter from the half-frigid spoon, but he stopped himself before he ate too much. Despite what Genma had said, Hayate didn't want to eat him out of house and home--and besides, he wanted to have peanut butter later, too.

Once he'd put the rest of the food back in the fridge, he rolled up his sleeves again and set to washing the clothes, with the same dish soap he'd used on the dishes. It took him at least two hours, and by that time his fingers were beyond pruny. After a few minutes' deliberation and another survey of the apartment, he concluded that there was really nowhere to leave the clothes to dry except the floor and the few places he could hang them from. When he was finished laying out the clothes to dry, a good portion of the floor was covered in Genma's shirts and pants, and his underwear was hanging from whatever doorknobs Hayate could find. The sheets, however, Hayate decided to hang over the shower rod--and he wouldn't admit to Genma how long it took him to toss the heavy sheets over the rod.

By the time Hayate had finished the washing, Genma still hadn't returned. Hayate had assumed he'd gone on one of the salvaging trips he'd briefly mentioned the night before, but he'd never mentioned how long they could take. Hayate tried to push away the eating worry that something had happened to Genma, and tried to find some way to entertain himself.

His attempts were largely fruitless. Hayate didn't know anything about guns and he thought it might be a better idea not to touch any of that stuff anyway, so the various gun parts strewn across the table were of no interest to him. A television or a radio--if Genma had even had either of those things--would have been pointless, seeing as most of the telecommunication lines had been destroyed since the outbreak, and even if they hadn't been no one was manning the stations. Genma's apartment was largely bare except for guns, food, and the assortment of bewilderingly random knickknacks, none of which were terribly helpful or interesting to Hayate. Pacing around got old fast, and he found that for once, he was too antsy to take a nap. After sitting on the futon and fidgeting restlessly for a while, he got back up and paced around the apartment again. Hayate was seriously considering counting ceiling tiles when the desk against the wall caught his eye once more , and his gaze settled on it. Genma had said something about the desk, but much of Hayate's memory of the previous night was fuzzy and a bit swimmy--he blamed the shock. There were papers and books and things strewn across it, which caught his interest. Books were good. A book, even a dry and boring one, might occupy his attention until Genma got back.

Hayate made his way over to the desk, carefully stepping over laundry that was still damp. He placed his hands on the back of the chair tucked into the desk and leaned over it, peering at it carefully. The first thing that he noticed was that the desk was noticeably dusty--it looked as if at least a few months' dust had been collecting here. He frowned slightly. Well, that was kind of weird, wasn't it? It looked like a perfectly fine desk; why wouldn't Genma be using it?

The second thing he noticed was that a good part of the dusty papers on the desk seemed to be just...regular-life stuff. There was a grocery list, and a reminder to Genma to unclog the drain. But then there were also things like blueprints and plans, and _that_ interested Hayate--made him a little more curious than maybe was acceptable. Most of it seemed to be in a handwriting that didn't look like Genma's, based on the note Hayate had found taped to his forehead that afternoon, and that made him even more curious. Had someone elseonce lived here , too? Hayate leaned forward a litttle bit more, the ends of his shoulder-length hair brushing against the surface of the desk. He just wanted to have a look...

* * *

Genma's magazine was empty by the time he broke back out into the street, bleeding from the chest, and the path behind him was littered with immobile bodies. As he heard the telltale sounds of decayed vocal chords howling, he clenched his teeth together and reloaded his gun with one of his spares, hands trembling slightly. 

"_Fuck_," he cursed to himself. Salvaging was going to have to wait until later, or tomorrow. He was in no shape to fend off another attack. One hand gripping the shallow wound in his lower chest, the other tight around the handle of his gun, he turned and began to run for the apartment.

His second magazine was half-empty by the time he made it to the fire escape, adrenaline flooding his system and his pulse racing. He all but crawled up the railing, dragging himself up rung by rung, gun carefully tucked back into his belt. His hands felt numb as he unlocked the door, almost shaking too much to find the lock. Once inside, he dropped his bag before pulling himself tiredly to his feet, glancing around his apartment for Hayate--

His hand was on his gun before he could stop himself, drawing it, reaching for the trigger. It was something of instinct and everything of rage. He pointed the barrel at Hayate and pulled the trigger, all in a span of seconds.

Hayate let out an utterly startled yelp that was more of a scream at the sound of the gunshot, jerking back and spinning around to face Genma, eyes wide in terror. The bullet lodged itself into the wall centimeters from Hayate's head, Genma's aim off perhaps only because of how badly his hands were shaking. It took Genma a moment to breathe, to realize what he'd done. He let his Glock clatter to the floor, rough treatment toward something he considered more an old friend than a weapon.

"I told you not to touch the _motherfucking _desk!" Genma swore as he stormed over to Hayate, gripping him tightly by the arm and pulling him roughly away from it, away from Raidou's things. "What the hell do you think you're fucking doing?"

Hayate's eyes were wide, his face drained of all color, and he was shaking visibly in Genma's grasp. "I don't--I'm s-sorry--" _Don't touch the desk or the closet_, Genma had said the night before--_now_ he remembered, _that_ was what Genma had been saying-- "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I forgot--I didn't mean to, I was just looking and I'm sorry, Genma, please, don't--" He was babbling now, and his dark eyes were fearful, absolutely fucking _terrified_. The man that had saved him only the night before had very nearly just _shot_ him, and Hayate shrunk away from him as best he could, still shaking. He felt sick to his stomach.

After a moment, Genma seemed to remember how to breathe, staring at Hayate as though only just then seeing how scared he was. The boy wasn't the only one feeling ill; Genma's own insides were rebelling now at the thought of how he had just completely lost it, how little self control he had when it came to Raidou, how he had almost just shot a little boy for not knowing any better. His throat was dry as he swallowed, hand dropping away from Hayate's arm, and turned directly for the pantry--the fifth of whiskey sitting out on the table wasn't going to cut it.

"I'm sorry, kid," he muttered as he found an unopened bottle of rum, twisting the cap loose before drinking it like so much water, "You didn't know. Yeah. I'm sorry."

Hayate was still trembling violently, obviously and badly shocked. He stared at Genma, his stomach churning hotly; his legs felt weak but he only just barely kept himself from grabbing the chair behind him for support. Instead, he let himself lurch toward the wall, leaning against it heavily with his heart thudding loudly in his ears. Whatever feelings of safety and security had developed since Genma had saved him the previous night had all but vanished as soon as he'd seen Genma holding the gun with the smoking barrel. The man must have been positively mental, and Hayate was terrified for his life--but for once, it wasn't because of the undead nightmares lurking in the city. For the first time in his life, Hayate was actively terrified of another living, breathing, _thinking_ human being trying to kill him. This place wasn't safe anymore. (He wasn't even sure it ever _had_ been.)

He sucked in a shaky breath, his mouth dry. His eyes were still fixed on Genma, as if afraid to look elsewhere, though he barely heard Genma's apology, and he took several unsteady steps away from the wall. "I'm--I'm sorry," he stammered again. "I'll--I'll leave, I'm sorry, I didn't--I'll go--"

"I'm sorry," Genma repeated, though his focus had gone somewhere else, somewhere far away. He tipped the bottle back, feeling familiar heat settle in his cheeks, his eyes.

"...Don't die."

It seemed the right thing to say, if there was anything right to be said. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand; it came away dry, despite how his eyes burned. After Raidou had left him, he'd somehow grown too stubborn to cry. It was one of those days.

'_No more strays, Genma. You're here because you need to be alone. You're no good to anyone anymore. No more strays. Fuck._'

He heard the safe door creak shut and he simply smiled tiredly, holding his bottle up to look at it.

"Well, then, old friend," he whispered, sounding quite honestly mad even to his own ears, "shall we go to bed?"

It was just one of those days.


	3. Chapter Three: Disclosure

...Hinaku totally wanted to title this chapter "Izumo and Kotetsu's happily married home life", but it wouldn't have quite fit the theme. X3 Enjoy!

**Chapter Three: Disclosure  
**Hayate barely made it down the ladder in one piece, sneakers slipping over the slick rungs as he scrambled down them in a frightening hurry to get away--just get _away_ from Genma, from the chaos and panic. The man might have saved his life, but he'd also just tried to _take_ it. Over--over a desk. A _desk_. Hayate was utterly bewildered (and if he'd had the energy, he would have been a little angry as well) as to why a stupid _desk_ would matter so much.

Hayate thought he should have known better than to trust any random strangers in this city. In this _world_. It wasn't safe here; it probably never had been. As his sneakers landed on the hard pavement, amongst rotting zombie corpses, he shuddered, suddenly cold. It was back to being on his own.

As he wrapped his arms around his middle and hurried and scurried past the decay-filled alley--augh, the _smell_--the churning in his stomach suddenly got more violent, and he doubled over as he felt bile rising quick and hot in his throat. There was no one to hold his hair back as he vomited up everything that he'd eaten in the past twenty-four hours--everything that Genma had given him, now in a messy, sickening puddle on the pavement, the stench mingling with that of the rotting corpses in the air. Hayate shuddered violently, resisting the urge to swallow, and tried spitting instead. He knew it was loud and probably dangerous--it was dark out and that was when the living nightmares were the worst--but he couldn't help it as he tried to hack up all of the lingering vomit in his mouth from the back of his throat, spitting it out bitterly onto the pavement. Every cough and hack stung, _hurt_, as the acid burned at his throat and mouth, and as he tasted his own vomit again his stomach gave another dangerous, sickening lurch--but nothing more came up. There wasn't anything else _to_ come up.

Hayate stayed bent over like that for another few minutes, shuddering and moaning quietly at the burning, the taste, but at least his stomach had mostly settled by now. He straightened up weakly, one hand still resting lightly on his stomach. He wiped away the spittle from around his chapped and dried lips on the back of his wrist, and only then realized that he was still wearing Genma's borrowed shirt. He grimaced and wiped his hand on his jeans.

He staggered away from the side of the apartment complex, his mind hazy. He still felt vaguely sick, but he was sure that all he'd get were unpleasant dry heaves, because he was pretty sure that there wasn't anything left in his stomach to come up anyway. Despite the utter lack of activity that day and the full night's sleep he'd gotten, he felt drained and weak as he aimlessly stumbled about the block. He wasn't even sure where he was going or what he was looking for--and he wasn't even thinking about it. After wandering about for a couple of hours - or it could have been a couple of _minutes_ for all he knew, but it definitely felt like forever--he walked straight into something hard and solid and unseen, and he hissed and groaned, half-hopping away a step or two as one hand immediately flew to his bruised thigh. He turned his unfocused eyes on the offending object and only vaguely identified it as a wooden picnic table, paint chipped and faded and peeling. It looked familiar, somehow, but Hayate's clouded-over mind couldn't seem to place it right at first. Where had he seen it before? It looked sort of like the ones that had used to be in his old elementary school's playground...

"Oh," Hayate mumbled to himself out loud, looking around blearily. That was because he _was_ in his elementary school's playground. He hadn't realized it was so close to Genma's fortified apartment. But he didn't have much longer to deliberate on the fact--a sudden chill wracked his body then, and he shivered violently, moving to sit down heavily on the bench of the picnic table. He wrapped his arms around himself and bent over, shuddering. "Nngh..." An audible groan escaped his mouth, more like a whimper than anything else. It had been a while since he'd felt this sick, a month or two at least--maybe it was just from living on the streets, dirty and cold and alone, but every so often he was struck by this exact kind of illness, chills and throwing up until there was nothing left in him. He wished it would stop.

"Hey--hey, kid? What the hell are you doing out here?"

The sudden voice (_human_ voice--but no, not Genma's) made Hayate start violently, and he jumped, nearly toppling off the bench. He spun around quickly, nearly tripping over his own feet. Staring back at him with some sort of wary concern was a man probably around Genma's age, with wildly tossed hair and narrow, slitted eyes that glittered in the light of the half-clouded moon. Hayate took a staggering step backwards, still shivering lightly with his hands wrapped around himself tightly.

"S-sorry," he stammered out. "Sorry, is this your--didn't mean to..."

"What? Hey, no, kid--are you all right? You don't look so hot..."

As if on cue, Hayate's stomach lurched again and he doubled over, heaving and gagging, but nothing came up. Every cough tore at the back of his throat, and he let out a low groan. "I'm--sorry, I can...nnh...I can leave--"

...Well, shit. When Kotetsu had gone out to make sure all of the gates were locked for the night (which, obviously, they weren't, if this stray had managed to get into the schoolyard), he hadn't expected to find some lost little kid choking his guts up. He was so bad with children he almost _wished _he had found a nice zombie he could just shoot at and then go back to bed. "Shit, kid," he muttered, giving the kid another wary look.

"Listen, kid, you didn't--you didn't get bit or nothing, did you? One of the zombies, they didn't get you, did they?" Because if that was the case, Kotetsu would do the kid a piece of mercy and shoot him where he stood.

It took Hayate a moment to register the question, and he lifted his dark, unfocused eyes to the man's face. "N-no. Just...sick, I think..."

Giving the kid another searching look, Kotetsu figured even if the kid _was_ about to go undead on them, it was nothing a shotgun round to the head wouldn't solve. And the kid looked like he needed help, badly. Izumo was never allowed call him heartless again.

"Hey, kid, we've got a camp inside the school. Think you can make it?"

Hayate looked up at Kotetsu and shivered again. His face was as white as it had been when Genma had shot at him, but this time he looked worlds more sickly. This man was offering him shelter, and--and hadn't he just sworn to himself that he wasn't going to trust anyone else, not after what had happened with Genma? But then his stomach gave another lurch, and he choked on it, gurgling quietly--and he conceded. He wasn't going to be able to find himself shelter, and...

"Y-yeah," he rasped, nodding shakily. "I can. Just--" He winced. "Stomach. Maybe fever. But I can walk."

"Here, uh, you can lean on me if...yeah, that'd be best--" Kotetsu glanced around, just a little bit flustered because, well, _kids_. They really weren't his thing.

"Izumo!" he shouted, knowing his partner wouldn't be terribly happy about being dragged out of bed, but it couldn't be helped. "Hey, _Izumo_! C'mere! I need your help!"

Moments later a sleepy-looking man about the same age as Kotetsu, chin-length brown hair falling heavily over one eye, half-stumbled and half-dashed out of the school in nothing but boxers and an open bathrobe, looking a little alarmed. He was toting a shotgun and immediately trained it on Hayate, but as he got close enough to actually use the damn thing, he realized that it was just some kid and lowered his gun, giving Kotetsu a look.

"What the fuck, man? Jesus, I thought you were getting swarmed or something!" He gave an exasperated and tired sigh, looking at Hayate, who had paled even further at the sight of the gun. "It's just a kid. Jesus..." He exhaled in what sounded like relief, shaking his head. "What's wrong with him, Kotetsu?"

"He's sick or something," Kotetsu shrugged, helping Hayate along toward the classroom they'd turned into living space. "Can you take him the rest of the way? I gotta go make sure nothing else gets in here before we lose the base." He paused then, trading Izumo the kid for the shotgun.

"And put some clothes on before you scar him, man. Not everyone in the world wants to see your ducky-print boxers."

"Yeah, no one except you, jackass," Izumo muttered, putting a hand around the kid's shoulders and guiding him inside. "Would've had time to get dressed if you hadn't started screaming for me like you were getting swarmed..." He sighed and glanced at Hayate, who still looked sick and scared and completely out of it. "Hey, sorry about that. Listen, you look pretty bad off--we'll take care of you for tonight, okay? I'm Izumo, and the half-wit back there is Kotetsu--"

"I fucking heard that!"

"--We're sort of trade merchants for what's left of civilization in this shithole," he continued without missing a beat, raising an eyebrow at the mild look of surprise that spread over Hayate's face. "What? You didn't know people actually still talked to each other? Let me guess, you haven't really talked to anyone since everything went to hell around here."

Hayate shook his head slowly, and Izumo frowned slightly, reaching to push open a door in the school hallway. "Can you talk all right, kid?" he asked after a moment's hesitation. The kid hadn't said a word to him yet - he wasn't mute or anything, was he? "What's your name?"

Hayate coughed, rubbing his eyes. "Yeah...yeah, sorry," he mumbled, his throat still raw. "I'm Hayate."

"Hayate, huh?" Izumo helped Hayate inside the room--a refurbished classroom, it looked like, with what was left of the desks stacked up against the soldered-shut windows. Scattered bags and boxes were strewn about the room, but unlike with Genma's apartment, there seemed to be some sort of order to it. As Hayate caught a brief glimpse of one of the boxes, he could see that clothes were neatly folded and stacked inside of it. Some sort of makeshift bed with a beaten mattress was pushed off into one corner--it was almost luxuriously large, definitely big enough for two people, and maybe even a third if the bed's occupants were willing to get comfy. Izumo led Hayate over to the bed and sat him down gently, studying his wan face with some sort of distant concern. "You really do look sick," he murmured to himself, and reached to brush Hayate's bangs away to lay a hand against his forehead.

"Jeez, kid, you're burning up." Izumo pulled back, frowning still. "Maybe you've got the flu or something. Seems a bit early for flu season, though...hm. Just a second, Hayate." Izumo turned away from him to rummage through several of the boxes for a short while. He returned a few minutes later with a couple of Tylenol, a near-empty bottle of water, and a grungy hand-towel. "Here, take these. Fever reducers." Izumo carefully placed the pills in Hayate's small hand and gave him the water--he could wash the bottle later. "And we're willing to help you out here, but do us a favor and keep the towel over your mouth, okay? We don't mind helping, but in case you do have the flu, _we_ don't want to get it."

Hayate nodded compliantly, sleepily, and took the pills, shuddering as the lukewarm water washed down his burning throat. Izumo helped him lie down after laying the towel safely over his mouth and pulled the sheets over his thin, shivering frame. "Poor kid," he muttered, straightening up. "This goddamned city sinks deeper and deeper into hell every day, I swear..."

Kotetsu was back before long, having found the offending section of fence to be a gate where the chain had rusted completely away. He took a chain from his wallet and temporarily mended it, intending to come back with a soldering torch in the morning. For now, it would keep the undead out enough for them to get a good night's rest.

"Everything checks out," he nodded to Izumo as he shut the door behind him and locked it, setting the shotgun down nearby. "How goes it with the kid?" Even as he inquired, he stripped out of his jacket, though with the little stranger in the house room was the extent he was willing to take off.

Izumo glanced over at Hayate, who was lying limply on the bed with half-closed eyes, breathing slightly ragged. "Got kind of a high fever," he said, a bit tiredly. "Gave him a couple of Tylenol for it...should be all right in the morning. Should." He shook his head. "He looked kinda shook up, too, though. Wonder if he had a scare with a zombie or something..."

"Not zombies," came the mumbled interjection from the bed, and Izumo and Kotetsu turned their heads. Hayate wasn't quite looking at them, but his head had lolled to the side a bit. "Tried to shoot me. But he missed."

Izumo's brow immediately creased, and he exchanged a somewhat alarmed glance with Kotetsu. It wasn't _that_ rare to hear of violent disagreements between the living, especially in these dark times, but what could this kid could have possibly done to piss anyone off that much? Cough on him? Unless he really _had_ been bitten...

Izumo took a step closer to the bed, though a bit warily now. "Who shot at you? What happened?"

"Genma," Hayate muttered, but he covered his face with his hands and let out a quiet little groan as his head gave particularly painful throb.

"Genma?" Kotetsu and Izumo echoed in unison, and they both frowned. Izumo glanced back at Kotetsu before moving closer to the bed.

"Hayate, do you mean Shiranui Genma? Carries a skewer in his teeth, 'bout our age, wears a backwards bandana? Why'd he try to shoot you?"

"He saved me last night." Hayate's voice was muffled by his hands, still over his face. "He saved me and then let me sleep in his bed, but then he tried to kill me. So I ran away..."

"The hell did you do to him?" Kotetsu asked, slightly less eloquent than his more subdued counterpart.

"I didn't _do_ anything." Hayate's voice was cracking now. "I didn't mean to touch the desk. I told him I was sorry, I didn't _mean_ to..."

The two men shared another glance, a knowing grimace.

"...Ah." Kotetsu nodded, looking over at Izumo for help. Kids were Izumo's thing. Izumo spoke kid-talk.

"Didn't he tell you...not to touch the desk?" Izumo sighed, shaking his head slightly at Kotetsu's social ineptitude.

"Yeah...yeah, but I forgot." Hayate coughed, shivering. "I was so tired when he told me, I didn't remember the next day. I didn't mean to." He pulled his hands away from his face, curling up. "Not going back there," he muttered. "He'll kill me again."

"Genma...he's not a bad guy, kid. He's one of us," Kotetsu began, slowly, scratching the back of his head as he tried to broach an extremely sensitive topic. At least Genma wasn't actually here--that would've made it _much_ harder to talk about.

"He probably didn't mean to hurt you or scare you or anything, kid. He just...loses it a little when it comes to Raidou's things," Izumo filled in for him.

Hayate rubbed his eyes, turning his gaze back on them - and the medicine seemed to be kicking in or something, because his eyes seemed clearer now, less hazy and clouded. "Raidou...? Who's that?"

"Raidou was...someone really important to Genma," Izumo said slowly, picking his words carefully. He and Kotetsu were both fully aware that if they said too much or said it _wrong_, there'd be hell to pay from Genma if he found out. "But...Genma lost him, and after that, Genma kind of...lost himself. He's mostly all right these days, but he's really kind of...crazy about Raidou's stuff. No one's allowed to touch it. But he's really all right except for that," he said quickly. "Genma's not totally screwed in the head. Everyone's come out of this thing a little messed up in their own way. Genma's a good guy, really."

Hayate pulled the sheets over him a little tighter. A good guy? A good guy who had tried to _shoot _him. Even though he could mostly understand what Izumo and Kotetsu were saying, Genma was still dangerous. Hayate couldn't guarantee he'd be so lucky next time, if something happened by accident, or something...

"Still not going back," he mumbled into the sheets.

"No one's gonna make you, kid, but, ah..." Kotetsu glanced at Izumo again, wondering how likely it was that Genma was currently dying of liver poisoning somewhere in his apartment as they spoke. "You might wanna at least go talk to him. Genma...doesn't take to things going wrong too well."

"Maybe it'd be better if you at least apologized for it, Hayate," Izumo agreed, and he felt like he was talking to one of the kids who had used to go to this very school. Just how old was this kid, anyway? "We know you didn't mean to upset Genma, but it might help...a lot, if you apologized."

"I _did_ apologize," Hayate said stubbornly, sitting up, but he did so too quickly and felt immediately dizzy, coughing. Izumo sat on the edge of the bed and helped him lie back down again, shaking his head.

"Take it easy, all right? Listen...no one's forcing you to do anything right now. Just...just get some rest for now. You need to get better." _So you can get back on your own two feet and out of our bed_ was something left unsaid by both men, but Izumo figured the kid didn't need anything else to be worried about right now.

Hayate gave a drowsy nod and settled weakly into the beaten mattress, his bruised eyes sliding closed. Izumo drew the sheets over him neatly and rose, shaking his head as he walked back over to Kotetsu.

"Five credits and a cigarette says Genma doesn't show tomorrow," he muttered.

Kotetsu shook his head and patted the space next to him on the mess of cushions that served as something like a couch, slipping his arm over Izumo's shoulders as his partner joined him. Sighing, he closed his eyes, resting his head against Izumo's.

"You know I don't make bets I can't win."

Izumo let his head slip down to Kotetsu's shoulder, burying his face in the other's man's neck. He made a muffled, unintelligible noise, something of a mix of discontent and weariness, and nuzzled Kotetsu tiredly. "Think he'll take the kid back when he does show? He didn't even mention he'd taken a stray in. Thought Genma was done with strays..."

"I'm surprised he held out this long." Kotetsu shrugged slightly, whispering the words against Izumo's temple. "I couldn't imagine living that long alone." He paused, reaching across his lap to brush fingertips with his partner.

"I get it though. Him and Raidou," he murmured, "I'd want to live alone too, if it was that or live with anyone but you."

"Yeah," Izumo sighed, quietly, and laced his fingers with Kotetsu's, clasping their hands together. "That's why I was surprised. Not so much that Genma saved him, but that he even let him inside..." He glanced back at Hayate's now sleeping form on the bed briefly. "I hope he does take the kid back," he said quietly. "He seems like a good kid. He messed up bad, but he didn't mean to. Might be good for Genma..."

"God knows he needs something better than a bottle of vodka for company," Kotetsu muttered, then sighed as well. "But enough of that. We should get some rest too." At that, he sprawled back against the cushions without bothering to detangle from Izumo, taking the other man with him as he went. Mindful of their guest, he brought Izumo's hand to his lips and kissed the back of it as a means of goodnight before closing his eyes.

There was nothing like remembering another's losses to remind you to count your blessings, and not even a smart-mouth like Kotetsu was immune.


	4. Chapter Four: Dreaming

We both deeply apologize for the delay in the upload of this chapter. We ended up going on a little unplanned hiatus there for a while, but we're back on track. Please do enjoy this chapter full of door-kicking, hallucinating, and first aid administration!

**Chapter Four: Dreaming**

The kid had been cute for the first day or so. _Really_. It was kind of interesting to see something so...little and...helpless? Like a kitten. And Izumo seemed to get really into it--Kotetsu had always thought that his counterpart would make a great dad. (Whatever misfortune the zombie outbreak caused, it _had_ come in time to save Kotetsu from having awkward conversations of the kids they might someday have. No one wanted to raise a kid in a wasteland like this, and how were the two of them supposed to conjure up a baby anyway? Though, uh, Genma seemed to have managed that last point quite well.) Still, Kotetsu hadn't been able to so much as change clothes in peace since the boy arrived. He had to take his clothes to the adjoining classroom where the windows weren't boarded up and he was sure that the legions of undead were staring at his goods. And the longer the boy stayed the younger he seemed to get, to the point where Kotetsu couldn't even bear to make lewd jokes around him. It felt like slowly being suffocated. Not to mention he and Izumo hadn't--

"Kotetsu, what are you doing?" Izumo's voice shook him from his thoughts and, yelping, Kotetsu pulled his pants the rest of the way up. He really had to stop zoning out while changing. Izumo only shook his head.

"Nothing I haven't seen before," he sighed. "And you've been in here for at least fifteen minutes. What's up?"

"Nnngh," Kotetsu protested, effectively avoiding the question, and pulled his shirt on. "How's the baby?"

"Sleeping," Izumo began, nodding over his shoulder at the door to confirm, though he did make a slight face at the epithet for Hayate. "Something wrong?"

"No," Kotetsu muttered. "Well, yes. Kind of. Just...I kind of miss having you to myself, y'know? Should we try to get Genma to take his kid back about now?"

"I _have_ been a little worried about him. He hasn't been anywhere in days. Not here, not to Shibi--even Iwashi and Tonbo haven't seen him," Izumo agreed, "Iruka made a house call, but he didn't answer the door. We should probably try to do something."

"Kid's doing better too, right?" Kotetsu asked, joining Izumo in the main room. "Think today is good? It'd be a bitch if Genma died of exposure while we're trying to decide what's a good time to see if he's okay."

"Yeah," Izumo sighed. "I'll make breakfast if you wake him?"

"On it," Kotetsu confirmed, still being somewhat of a teenager who thought mostly through his stomach. As Izumo left for the cafeteria, Kotetsu crouched down next to the ((little parasite sapping away at his livelihood) adorable little boy, placing a hand on his shoulder to give him a shake.

"Hey, Hayate, you still alive?"

Hayate started awake with a jolt, eyes snapping open as he jerked visibly. "Nguh!" he uttered sleepily and nonsensically, falling back against the bed for a moment as his eyes focused and he came fully awake. "Mmh...Kotetsu, don't _do_ that..." His voice was a half-whine; Kotetsu seemed to like startling him awake. It wasn't his fault he was twitchy about people waking him up, after all.

"How else am I supposed to wake you up?" Kotetsu retorted. "Izumo's bringing breakfast. And kid, you're gonna come with us to see what's up with Genma today." While Izumo might have gone about this carefully, asking about Hayate's wishes before gently steering him toward the best course of action, Kotetsu lacked that level of finesse and instead had to work with what he had, even if it was considerably less subtle and effective.

Predictably, Hayate tensed immediately, and the stiffness showed even on his yet-sleepy face. "Why do I have to go? I told you, I don't wanna go back there..."

"You have to go because everything else's been tried and you're the last thing between Genma and drinking himself to death," Kotetsu sighed, frowning slightly. Kids always thought that if they hung back enough, someone else would take care of the problem for them. God, he missed being twelve.

"Take a little responsibility, okay? You're running with the big dogs now."

Hayate fidgeted with his hands on his lap, looking down at them uncomfortable - it was the look of a kid who knew he'd made a mess but was reluctant to go anywhere near it to clean it up. He made a quiet, discontented noise under his breath and looked up at Kotetsu.

"I just have to apologize, right? And then that's it?"

"And kiss and make up," Kotetsu smiled teasingly at that, lightly prodding Hayate in the side in a brotherly fashion. Hayate gave him a sour and disgruntled look.

"That's not funny," he muttered, rubbing his side as if Kotetsu had hurt him. Even just as a turn of phrase...he wasn't going to get that close to Genma again if he could help it. He shuddered lightly at the mere memory of that night. It had been more terrifying than being chased by the undead, somehow - maybe because Genma was a rational, thinking, living human being with a personal grudge.

...Well, maybe not _so_ rational.

"What's not funny?" came Izumo's voice as he reentered the room, bearing a couple of chipped old cafeteria trays piled with food. "Is Kotetsu cracking bad jokes again? Don't encourage him, Hayate. He thinks he's funny, but we all know _I'm_ the comedian here."

"You're funny like a zombie bite, Izumo," Kotetsu shot back, swiping a meal tray from Izumo as he spoke just in case Izumo didn't appreciate his statement.

"But yeah, Hayate. Eat up and gear up, because we're heading out," he continued before inhaling his breakfast with truly awe-inspiring speed. When he finished, he set the empty dinner tray down and gestured to Izumo that he was going to lock down the school so that they'd have somewhere to come back to before heading off to do exactly that.

Hayate sighed and looked down at the food before picking at it idly. It wasn't that the food wasn't good--Hayate had never been much of a picky eater, and couldn't really afford to be--but now his stomach was flooded with dread at the thought of going back to Genma's apartment. Kotetsu and Izumo had assured him that Genma wasn't really such a bad guy, and yet...

A poke in the side of his head disrupted his train of thought, and he blinked, turning his head slightly to see Izumo looking at him, a bit expectantly. "Don't space out on me, kiddo," he said, sitting back on the cushions with his own own tray. "Come on, we don't have all day to waste. Eat up." He nodded to the food. "You might've been sick lately, but you need to eat. Besides, you haven't seemed to have a problem with it since you got here...what, is my cooking suddenly that bad?" It was a half-hearted attempt at humor, and Hayate only gave a sort of noncommittal shrug. Izumo sighed and shoved a forkful of dry mashed potatoes into his mouth.

"Listen, I know Genma gave you a good scare the other night. But we'll be with you, all right? Nothing bad's going to happen." _At least, it shouldn't,_ he added silently, but then again, Genma could never be considered too inebriated to handle a gun.

But either way, his reassurance seemed to help, because Hayate looked a little less dejected and apprehensive and started eating properly again, more or less. Once the two of them had finished eating, Izumo stacked the dirty trays and got to his feet. "Come on, kid. We'll meet Kotetsu outside."

Hayate nodded and pushed back the sheets, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. Izumo let him stretch for a moment or two before the kid got up, jamming his feet back into his worn sneakers, and he clapped Hayate lightly on the shoulder. "Come on, let's get going."

* * *

Genma had taken up permanent residence beside his toilet. His chest ached, deeply. Whether that had to do more with the absence of Raidou or the poorly healing gash there was anyone's guess, though. He was a mess, such a mess. He was wearing just pants, remembering faintly that he had taken off Ibiki's coat to make sure nothing happened to it. Ibiki had trusted him with that coat. He had to take care of it. At some point he had peeled his shirt off, though it had torn away the matted blood that was holding his chest together and caused him to bleed for a while. Now he felt a little bit like he was dying. His head hurt, _pounded_ with pain. It seemed to hurt from his temples to his ear canals to his teeth to the back of his head and no amount of swearing or drinking did anything for him. Drinking. He had probably polished off everything in the house by now, considering he hadn't restocked in ages. At this point he was barely conscious, barely lucid, still knocking back the quarter bottle of whiskey that was his last. He still couldn't forget. 

After he almost shot Hayate, he lost it. After the kid left, after Genma had sunk into his bed nursing his rum, he found himself fighting a losing battle against his memories. He wasn't in bed anymore, he wasn't holding a half empty bottle anymore. He was in the middle of the living room floor, Raidou spasming with pain in his arms. He could feel Raidou's hand gripping his tightly. If holding on to each other was enough, if how badly Genma needed him was enough...Genma was sure they would still be together. His face was slick with tears, his breaths choked with them. Raidou was dying and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He could hear Raidou's voice, hoarse and wracked with agony, agony at both the infection that was killing him and the reality that he and Genma would never have that 'some day when this is all over' to work everything out between them, begging him to end his life. But Genma couldn't do it. How could he? He would have sooner put a bullet in his own head.

Then it was over; Raidou was dead. He'd managed to get the body out--_oh god he hadn't wanted to_--and locked the door. He sat against it for hours, listening to someone that was not quite Raidou pound and claw at the wall, tears streaming steadily down his face.

There it was again, the pounding against his door. He made a strained sound, something like terror and guilt and pain, trying to block it out.

'_I'm sorry Rai oh fuck I'm sorry I fucked up I know I fucked up Rai I'm so fucking sorry I was a coward I'm sorry I'm so sorry oh god I'm sorry Rai I'm sorry--_'

"Genma! Shit, Genma, open the goddamn door!" Kotetsu had been kicking at the thick steel door for what must have been five, ten minutes, and _fuck_ his foot was sore. "Genma! Come _on_, Genma--" He pulled his hand away with a hiss, shaking it out. "Goddamn it. Izumo, you take over knocking, my foot's gonna fucking fall off."

Izumo pursed his lips slightly, glancing over his shoulder at the street below the fire escape. "Shit, he _needs_ to open the door," he muttered. "We're stirring up enough racket to attract a swarm or something..." He delivered a kick to the hatch in Kotetsu's stead, calling for Genma. "Come on, Genma, let us in! It's me and Kotetsu, come on!"

Hayate stood there quietly between them, looking nervous and uncomfortable. Things were obviously not quite going according to plan, as Hayate was certain that part of the plan had involved Genma opening the door at some point. Part of him--a small, selfish part of him--was a bit relieved that they seemed to be making no progress, because he was just plain _scared_ of Genma now and he really, really didn't want to have to talk to him or even go into a room where there wasn't two inches of steel separating the two of them. Especially not a drunk Genma. But if he wasn't answering the door, then maybe there was something wrong with him, and Hayate felt a surge of guilt. Maybe he really was drinking himself to death, or already had--

"Genma! _Genma_, come on, open _up_!"

Hayate shivered as a cool autumn breeze brushed past them, and he shoved his hands in his pockets, more to keep them from twitching nervously than to keep them warm. He fidgeted and wiggled his fingers around inside them idly, fingering the hole at the bottom of one pocket, letting his fingers slide over the jagged edge of the key kept warm by sheer proximity to his body--

He stopped, blinked once, and pulled the key out of his pocket. He stared at it bemusedly for a second as Izumo and Kotetsu continued shouting uselessly at two inches of thick steel, kicking at it to get Genma to open up. The key. Hayate had found the key in the cupboard while he'd been cleaning, thought it looked like the key that Genma had used to open the door in the first place...

"Um," he said, but Izumo and Kotetsu paid him no mind.

"Son of a _bitch_ thinks he can just go off and drown himself in vodka, does he?" Kotetsu muttered viciously, wincing as he gave the door another sharp kick, "No responsibility. Fine, we're not taking his guns anymore--"

Hayate cleared his throat, a little bit loudly. Kotetsu stopped kicking at the door long enough to toss a glance over his shoulder at Hayate. "What?" he demanded, a little more snappishly than he really meant to.

Hayate held up the key in his hand. "I think this might work on the door..."

For a moment, Kotetsu and Izumo could only gape at him in pure exasperation and disbelief before Kotetsu snatched the key out of Hayate's hand.

"Jesus, kid, how long were you gonna hold out on us?" he asked, mildly disgruntled because pain tended to do that to him. He forced the key into the lock and turned, sharing a sigh of relief with Izumo at the very satisfying sound of the lock springing open. Cautiously, he pushed open the door, determined to help Genma but only marginally less worried than Hayate about taking a bullet to the head.

"Genma?" he called, voice softer now, venturing into the pitch-black apartment, the only light coming from the doorway, "Genma, where are you...? Shit, Izumo, do you remember where the light switch is?"

"...Raidou?" a cracked, raw voice whimpered quietly from somewhere in the bathroom, causing Kotetsu to cringe. '_Shit. Not good._'

"No, hey, Genma. It's Kotetsu and Izumo. We just came with the kid to see how you're, uh, holding up."

"Kakashi...?" Genma asked wearily as Izumo joined Kotetsu in the apartment, followed shortly by Hayate. He licked his dry lips as he pushed away from the wall, managing to stand, leaning heavily against the bathroom door.

"Is...is that Masa with you?"

Izumo and Kotetsu shared another one of their 'oh _fuck_' glances, wondering how dehydrated Genma had to be to be that delirious. Hayate gave the two of them a bewildered look, started to open his mouth to ask _Who's Masa?_, but Izumo stopped him with a surprisingly sharp glance.

"No, Genma," Izumo's voice was gentle but firm, "it's Izumo and Kotetsu. We brought the kid you were with a few days ago. His name is Hayate." As Izumo spoke, Kotetsu noticed that Genma's prized Glock 17 was lying by the door. He picked it up, slowly as not to alarm Genma because the situation was bad enough, wanting to err on the side of caution--Genma was still dangerous as fuck without a gun, but it was a lot easier to stop a skewer than a bullet.

Bloodshot eyes squinted at Kotetsu, Genma's disorientation dissolving into longing and resignation as reality set back in.

"Ah. Yeah. Sorry, guys," he muttered, rubbing his temples, "My head--... Should've known better, but..." He sighed, shaking his head slightly before finding it a bad idea and stopping. He looked back up at them.

"Something I can do for you three?"

It was then that Kotetsu found the light switch, setting off the overhead lights that made Genma hiss and wince, sharply bringing up his hand to shield himself from the blinding brightness.

"Shit, Genma, sorry--" Kotetsu began before his eyes widened, seeing for the first time the mess that was Genma's chest, "..._fuck_, man. What happened to you?"

Hayate hung back, deliberately so, because somehow seeing Genma so weary and hurt and _vulnerable_ scared him even more. The fact that someone could destroy himself from the inside out like this was just...

And the chest wound. Hayate only vaguely remembered the angry splash of red across Genma's front that night, but he'd been too terrified out of his mind to care about anything other than getting away. He blanched at the sight of it now, no longer fresh but probably starting to fester, and he turned his face away, staring at a moldy spot on the wall instead. He wrapped his arms around his chest, trying to ignore the fact he was still wearing Genma's shirt - and he wondered idly, for just a moment, if Genma had thrown out the shirt Hayate had left there.

"Oh, Jesus, Genma," Izumo muttered, his own gaze still fixed on Genma's chest. "Shit, I knew we should've come earlier. Genma, you got a kit around here? Where is it?"

"Fucking zombies," Genma laughed to himself as he looked down at the wound, clumsily swiping at it with the back of his hand, "It's nothing, it's just--" He swayed slightly, feeling a spell of light-headedness hit him as his legs threaten to buckle beneath him.

"...It's in the fridge, I think," he managed to mumble as he let himself slide back down, slumping against the bathroom door, feeling consciousness threaten to leave him and hardly in the mood to fight for it.

"Shit, Genma," Kotetsu swore once more, shaking his head, "Hey, Izumo. You go check the, uh...well, the fridge and I'll get him into bed, okay?" He glanced over at Genma's futon, then glanced over at Hayate even as he moved forward to get Genma off the filthy bathroom floor.

"Hayate, you have any idea what he did to his sheets?"

Hayate jerked slightly, turning to look at Kotetsu as Izumo brushed past him, heading for the fridge. "Um..." It took him a moment to register the question, register why it was being asked as he looked at the bare futon and blinked dully. "I--I washed them. 'Cause he asked me to. I left them in the bathroom, over the shower rod..." Kotetsu glanced past Genma into the bathroom, and sure enough, the wrinkled sheets were still thrown across the shower rod.

"Wonderful," he said dryly. "Kid, go get the sheets while I get Genma into bed." But Hayate didn't move, looking uncomfortable, and Kotetsu gritted his teeth. The kid still seemed to be on edge around Genma. (Understandable, maybe, but this was kind of an _emergency_.) "Come on, Hayate, _go_. Move!" He bent down, securely wrapping an arm around Genma's shoulders to pull him back toward the futon. Hayate rocked on his heels for a moment before moving forward, stepping past Genma carefully, as if treading on thin ice. There was no need, as Genma was far from caring.

Izumo came back with the first aid kit shortly after, and set it down so he could help Kotetsu drag Genma over to the futon and lay him over it. Izumo was muttering to himself under his breath as he grabbed the first aid kit and knelt down next to Genma. Kotetsu glanced back at the bathroom. "Come on, Hayate, hurry up with the sheets!"

"Coming," Hayate grunted, yanking the sheets away from the shower rod, and they tumbled down, half landing on top of his head. It would have been funny, something to laugh at, if not for the situation at hand. Trying not to trip on the ends trailing on the floor, Hayate yanked the sheets away from his face, paying no mind as the bandana he always wore came away from his head with them. He stumbled out of the bathroom, sheets in hand, holding them out. "Here--"

Kotetsu sighed and got to his feet, grabbing one end of the sheets. "Come on, let's lay 'em over his legs. Izumo needs to work on fixing Genma up so let's not get in the way." Hayate nodded, perhaps a bit dumbly but he comprehended nonetheless, and sank to his knees beside the futon, helping Kotetsu pull the sheets over Genma's lower body. Hayate looked at him then, really and finally _looked_ at him - and this time, instead of fear, he had guilt written all over his face. He opened his mouth to say something - but then as Izumo reached forward with a damp cloth to wipe the wound clean, he shut it again. It wasn't the time.

"Shit, Genma," Izumo muttered. "Can't you take care of yourself? You let this thing get all infected..."

"You don't look anything like Kakashi," Genma responded distantly, either completely missing or avoiding the mostly rhetorical question, "Don't know what I was thinking, Izumo. You're much prettier than his stupid, moping, white-as-sin ass."

Izumo rolled his eyes as he pulled on the gloves in the first aid kit. "If you were in any kind of condition to have your ass kicked, that's exactly what I'd do, except I happen to like a challenge," he retorted. "You're about as dangerous as a newborn kitten the way you are." They both knew it was far from the truth, but Izumo figured the talk would distract Genma while he cleaned the wound. Having an infected wound treated was never a pleasant process, no matter how many scuffles Genma had gotten in. Hayate sat back against the wall and watched - why, he wasn't sure, as he'd never really had a strong stomach for those things, but he watched anyway. By now he wasn't going to need any encouragement from Izumo or Kotetsu to apologize to Genma - now, he was just waiting for his chance.

As soon as Izumo had patched up the wound and properly bandaged it, he stripped off the gloves and turned them inside out, tossing them in the trash, and went to wash his hands at the kitchen sink. He came back, wiping his hands on his jeans, and sat down beside Kotetsu against the wall. He glanced at Genma and sighed. "You take a nap or something. Doubt you've properly slept in days. So go to sleep and sober up a little. We'll stick around for a bit."

"Thanks, Izumo," Genma half slurred, on the verge of passing out as it was, "Kotetsu's...lucky to have you." On any other occasion, Genma would have cracked a few wife and fidelity jokes, but this morning he was taking the situation for what it was. That Kotetsu and Izumo were lucky to have each other, to have always had each other. And that he had once had that too. His hand closed around something that wasn't there as he shut his eyes, consciousness dissolving into a mercifully dreamless sleep.


End file.
